


To Work It Out

by 3six12



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 03:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18217832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3six12/pseuds/3six12
Summary: Spock is faced with a decidedly uncomfortable situation. To repair what is damaged, he falls back on wisdom from his mother.





	To Work It Out

            Spock had first noticed his Captains current predicament during an unexpected and thus far unexplained phenomenon that had left the _Enterprise_ partially dead in space. Life support had remained online, and no casualties were reported but all forms of propulsion and communications had failed to work. Even ship wide communication and personal comms were unavailable for use. The crew was forced to work off word of mouth which left everyone exhausted as they hustled from area to area to deliver messages or instructions.

            Ten days passed and with each passing day the frustrations grew, and the nerves tightened. The negative energy was tangible, inducing the more empathically or telepathically apt of the crew to be particularly on edge. Spock included. He kept his interactions with the crew to a minimum, choosing to work instead deep in the belly of the ship, surrounded not by living beings but by the thrumming computers.

            It was not the work of Scotty or any other crew member that returned the _Enterprise_ to working order. Just as the systems had gone off line, they came back online just as unexpectantly. Spock had suspected that this would please the more emotionally inclined, namely the Captain, but instead it seemed to ignite a new level of frustration; brought on, perhaps, by the unexplained and uncontrollable.

            Still, Spock had assumed that three days after the return to normalcy that all aspects of ship life would follow suit. He could not have been more wrong.     

            “Captain,” Spock had tried after the ship was well on its way to its next destination, “I have noticed as of late that you are particularly tense.”

            “Yeah, well Spock, we’re all a little fucking tense right now so,” Kirk had snapped.

            “I had not meant,” but Spock was unable to finish, left floundering after Kirk as he watched him retreat tensely down the hall. Why Spock felt compelled to finish his sentence, knowing Kirk could not hear him, he could not explain, “offense.”

            In the following weeks, aside from his duties as Commander and Science Officer, Spock kept a healthy distance between himself and his Captain. They had not engaged in a chess match since before the incidence, had not taken meals together. Kirk had gone so far as to avoid sitting next to Spock during conference meetings.

            Perhaps what puzzled Spock the most was that the Captain had since resumed all normal relationships with the rest of the crew. He ruffled Chekov’s hair affectionately. He rough housed with Sulu. He teased Uhura. He got lost in the Jeffries tubes with Scott. He greeted McCoy with his stunning smile any time he sauntered onto the bridge uninvited. He completely and totally ignored Spock.

            And when he wasn’t ignoring him he was snapping at him, sending off terse instructions or demanding questions. He did not look him in the eye or join him at his station. The rest of the bridge crew had noticed, and by proxy the rest of the ship knew. Captain and Commander were fighting, and Spock had no idea what he had done or how he could fix it.

            It became so much that the crew noticeably tensed with any interaction, looking anywhere but at them and holding their breath. When either of them left the area, the atmosphere immediately lifted.

            “So what did you do now?” McCoy asked. He did not often visit the science labs but when he did it seemed to be with the sole purpose of bothering Spock.

            “As I have completed many tasks today, and all days prior, you will have to be more specific as to when I did something and preferably what that something might have entailed.”

            “Alright smart ass. I’ll bite. Any reason Jim seems to be avoiding you like the plague? Coming to my office to drink my good Saurian brandy and grumble about you and pointed ears. Hmm?”

            Spock did not sigh so much as he forcefully expelled the air from his lungs. Setting down his sample, he completed his notes before turning to fully face McCoy. “I am unaware of any particular reason the Captain has taken grievance with my person. My attempt at inquiring such a reason was met with resistance. Since then, the Captain has been short with me and has taken measures to avoid me.”

            “Thought you two were getting close. Seemed to spend a lot of time together.”

            McCoy was right. Or at least Spock had assumed such was the case. It did not take long for the Captain to seek out Spock’s company after the start of the mission. They began taking meals together, anticipating when the other might be free and seeking each other out. They had become so accustomed to reading each other that they could hold a conversation without speaking a word. So why could Spock not talk with his Captain now?

            “Maybe you should try talking it out. Really talk it out. Not that eyebrow raise shit you do. Not that, “Your actions are illogical.” Because if you’ve learned one thing it better be that humans are damned illogical. Jim wants you to talk to him. He just doesn’t know how to say it.”

            Spock said nothing, looking back to his project, hoping McCoy did not see him chew his lips or furrow his brow.

            It was later that evening, after they had each taken their respective meals, that Spock found Kirk in the gym, running laps harder than was reasonably needed. He passed Spock twice, three times, five, panting harder and harder with each whip around the track. Eventually, he came to stand before him, hands planted firmly on his hips, scowling through his heavy breaths. Spock had never known Kirk to scowl so frequently.

            “Captain.”

            “That’s what a lot of people call me. Most acknowledge and respect the title.”

            “Captain, it was never my intention to disrespect you. If that occurred, it was, as I have already said, entirely unintended. I assure you, should you have needed my assistance, it would have been willingly given. This misinterpretation is causing our command structure to suffer, and it would be best if it was corrected.”

            “Best if it was corrected? Fuck you. Where were you then, for the fucking week of hell? When the ship wasn’t working for shit? When everything was falling apart, and I needed my First fucking Officer and Science Officer to help hold everything together. Where were you?”

            “Captain, I would ask that you not use such language when speaking with me,” Spock ignored Kirks frustrated growl, ignored the way he threw his hands in the air before forming fists at his hips. “It was not my intention to leave you without aid. I had determined, however, that my skills would be better put to use working with the computer systems. Especially considering no physical threat was presented to the ship.”

            Kirk had moved to stand close to him, looming into his space with a deep scowl on his face. Spock could see his jaw working, the muscles in his neck bulging, the vein in his temple raised and angry. “How bout you,” Kirk barked, jabbing Spock in the chest with a hard finger, “let me determine where you would be best put to use, huh? That idea sound okay to you, Commander?”

            Spock stood frozen in the face of his Captain’s anger. Kirk had never used such venom to refer to his title. Not when Spock had reported him to Pike, caused him to temporarily loose command of the ship, caused him to be cut in rank. Spock had never been at the end of such rage from Kirk. “Of course, Captain. My apologies.”

            Without so much as an acknowledgement, Kirk turned sharply on his heel, marching down the hall and around the corner. Almost without realizing it, Spock turned and retreated in the opposite direction, reaching his destination without knowing how he had done so.

            Seeing as it was McCoy who had suggested Spock speak with Kirk, it was McCoy that Spock went to when Kirk refused to speak. It occurred to him rather rapidly that Spock had been given no reason to go to the doctor for anything other than required physical exams or other health needs.

            Spock had never been on the receiving end of McCoy’s scrutiny. He had never had to sit opposite the sharp-eyed doctor, attempting to not fidget in his seat. He had never had to reason through what he would say or how he would say it in a way that would give away enough but not too much. He did wonder why some would choose to do so but it was not for him to pass judgement. McCoy could be helpful he was sure. At times.

            At the moment, he just looked at Spock, appraising him with his silence. He was reclined deeply in his chair, a leg thrown up over his knee, that foot swinging back and forth. He had a deeply pleased smile on his face.

            “Didn’t go well, huh?”

            “Your powers of deduction are impenetrable.”

            “Impenetrable, huh? Sounds like a damn good compliment.”

            “It was not.”

            “I don’t know, Spock. Maybe I read it wrong, maybe Jim is a bit more pissed than I pegged him as. He’s terse with me as well and when I call him on it, he just snaps and leaves. That never used to be the deal.” McCoy paused, sighing heavily and leaning forward across the table, his head in his hands. “I think he needs some shore leave but that doesn’t look like it’ll happen. A good fuck might work but hell if he’ll do it. He needs some way to let off some steam that isn’t self-destructive.”

            “He was jogging, or rather sprinting, in the gym when I approached him.”

            “That’s no good. It’ll just run him ragged and leave him exhausted and pissed.” McCoy looked up, giving Spock a pensive and searching look. “You ever hear of Vulcan neuro pressure?”

            Spock’s eyebrow rose. “Of course.”

            “Too bad he didn’t know someone who could do that for him.”

            Spock’s eyebrow rose higher. That did not seem feasible, especially considering the lengths that Kirk was going through to keep his distance and avoid all attempts at conversation.

Seeing as how his attempt to reconcile with his Captain resulted in furthering his anger, Spock redoubled his avoidance measures. They spoke as infrequently as possible, only exchanging the necessary words when necessity arose. Without either of them noticing, another week passed. They had lapsed into a new type of normal, one that was opposite their previous and yet somehow comfortable in its own way.

            That, however, was not working any better than attempting to “work it out,” as his mother was so fond of saying. She had managed to work it out with a coworker who found her human logic to be distracting in concerns to their joint project. She had worked it out with her husband, Spock’s father, on more occasions than perhaps Spock’s father would have liked to admit. She had worked it out with the patriarch of the clan name, to allow some contact with an otherwise banished family member. Spock had assumed that he would have learned something from his mother in the way of working it out.

            He had not. But he had learned the fine art of conversation via written messages, in which he had the opportunity to rework his words and find any hidden meaning that an emotional human might think to find.

 

TO: Captain James Tiberius Kirk, SC937-0176 CEC

FROM: Commander S'chn T'gai Spock, S 179-276 SP

            Captain,

            I send this correspondence in hopes that I will be able to communicate my thoughts in a way that will not cause you any undue distress. First, I would like to point out that it was never my intention to cause you said distress and if I have done so, in any perceived way, I would ask that you overlook such transgressions.

            My primary reason for reaching out to you is to offer assistance that may aid in your physical and emotional healing. I had pointed out earlier that you had seemed tense. In doing so I had not meant to be accusatory nor was it my intention to ridicule. In that moment, I only wished to assess your status and point out what you might have overlooked, especially given the high stress of the situation.

            If you would permit it, I would ask for conference with you to attempt to, as my mother called it, “work it out.”

            Sincerely,

            Spock

 

TO: Commander S'chn T'gai Spock, S 179-276 SP

FROM: Captain James Tiberius Kirk, SC937-0176 CEC

            I’m available this evening at 1830.

            Kirk

 

            The door before him should not have been so cold or daunting. He should not have thought about the steel as some living being, erected to keep him out, to bare its teeth and frighten him off. Yet it was and he could not bring himself to touch the beast, to press the button that would summon the being just beyond the door.

            When he did, the door opened quickly, as if Kirk knew he was standing there, right on time.

            Kirk stood unmovable, a hand on the doorframe blocking entrance. Nothing about his body language suggested that he wanted Spock to be there. He was looking over Spock’s shoulder, his eyes tight and void. Muscles in his face worked rhythmically, betraying the calm that Spock knew him attempting to keep.

            “May I come in?”

            In way of answer, Kirk shoved off the door, throwing a hand vaguely around the room and walking to flop gracelessly in his chair. Their last chess game was still set up on the table and Kirk looked at it with a soft fondness Spock had not noticed from him for almost three weeks.

            “As your First Officer it is part of my duties to see to your physical, mental and even emotional health. As with all other tasks assigned to me, I intend to give it my utmost attention and effort.”

            Kirk just stared at him. Although Spock had not assumed it possible, his eyes took on an even harsher glint. Spock shifted uncomfortably, looking instead to the board.

            “Is that all this is?” Kirk scoffed. “Just you completing some duty?”

            “Captain?” Spock was getting the distinct impression that he had mis stepped again. Backtracking he analyzed their conversation, short though it had been. Finding no fault, Spock resigned himself to another verbal onslaught, another failed attempt.

            “Spock, I thought you were my friend. I thought what was between us went a bit beyond Captain and Commander. I thought I could count on you to just be there and not need some excuse of duty to do so.” Over the course of his confession, Kirk had melted into his seat, all the hard edges to him gone.

            “Captain,” Spock did not miss the way Kirks eyes rolled, “Jim.”

            At this Kirk looked to him. Spock found he could read no other being the way he could read Kirk. It was fraught with moments of extreme clarity and a highly uncomfortable amount of speculation and anxiety. At times he prided himself in knowing when his Captain needed his assistance, when he should stand at his side and provide unspoken support. At times, he knew when Kirk was using his silence to speak beyond words.

            He had failed to notice that Kirk, that Jim, was responding not in anger but in loss.

            “Jim, I had not meant to abandon you.”

            “Spock, no. You didn’t abandon me. I know that. I’m human. I know you have a hard time understanding but sometimes we get pissed with ourselves for being upset with someone else. You know?”

            Spock did not know.

            “Dr. McCoy worries that you are overworked. He has suggested that you take shore leave or, and I quote him directly, engage in ‘a good fuck.’ He also had another suggestion.”

            “God!” Jim laughed. “I can’t believe he said that to you. He knows no bounds. What was his other suggestion?”

            Taking a moment to compose his thoughts, as neuropressure was not something to be offered lightly, Spock went to stand beside the chessboard, making the move he had been thinking about since last he was in the Captains quarters.

            “There is a technique that my father taught me, that he used on my mother and that I used on her in his absence, that is useful in relieving body tension and stress. It is similar to a massage but focuses the pressure on specific neural junctions. When the muscles are overworked, as happens with stress, the body does not function properly and certain adverse effects are seen.”

            “You mean my piss poor attitude?”

            “Captain, I did not,”

            “No, Spock, I know you didn’t. I did.” Jim interrupted, coming to stand before Spock, his arms held awkwardly before his body. He was chewing on his lip, nervous as to how to properly proceed. The last thing he wanted was to cause another miscommunication, another fight.

            “So,” Jim looked decidedly uncomfortable. “How should I do this? I mean, what’s the best, uh, position?”

            Not wishing to cause him further anxiety, and noticing the creeping tension in his neck, Spock gestured to the bed.

            “Vulcan neuropressure requires the use of deep, physical pressure on specific points of the body to relieve and realign the muscles. The technique also relies to some extent on telepathy. For that reason, skin to skin contact is best. Most of the pressure points are located on the back, along the spine. Some are more easily accessible from the chest; a few require work on the face; some with the hands. Those of the back are the ones I will target tonight. Should you find the exercise useful, I will expand and work on other points.”

            Jim blanched. “Why do you want to do this? Really.”

            Spock was silent, his brow taking on its pensive curve. “Your friendship is important to me and if I have jeopardized said friendship, I would ask for the opportunity to amend it. I look after your mental, physical and emotional wellbeing not only as your Commander but also as your friend. I had assumed you knew this.”

            “God, Spock.” Jim mumbled. “God, I’m so sorry. I’ve been acting like an ass all this time and you’re just doing you and I never saw that. What’ve I done?”

            “Captain, please. You have done nothing wrong. You misunderstood and I was unable to initially correct that misunderstanding. If you would, I believe you will find this exercise calming and will be able to see things with a clearer mind afterwards.” Spock gestured toward the bed.

            Kirk nodded, going to remove his shirt and lying face down on the bed, his arms folded under his head. He had his head tilted to the side, still able to watch Spock as he sat down beside him.

            “I will begin at the base of your skull, along your hairline. It will be easier if you face down.”

            With one last look, a look so filled with unease that Spock thought for a moment to have him sit instead, Kirk complied, the muscles of his shoulder going tense and unforgiving.

            Spock placed gentle fingers at the base of his Captains skull, feeling for the approximate location of the wings of his atlas. The first touch made Kirk tense. Spock applied no pressure temporarily, instead resting his fingers gently at the point. He began to bear down as Kirk started to relax, matching his pace in an attempt to make his movements go unnoticed. It appeared to work, prompting Spock to move first up, running his fingers through Kirks hair, touching the nerves behind his ears before returning to the wings of his atlas.

            As Spock moved down his cervical vertebrae and to his shoulders, Kirk all but melted under him, his muscles becoming pliant and the neural points becoming easier to find. When Spock reached the point at the junction of his biceps and trapezius – his armpit, Spock reminded himself – Kirk jumped, laughing lightly.

            “Maybe not there, Spock. Otherwise it’s great.”

            Taking note, Spock instead worked the back of Kirks arms, from his shoulder to his wrist. Once done, he reapplied his efforts to his back. Testing for any areas of pain, Spock used the thumb and forefinger of one hand to press his way down Kirks spine, taking note of any area’s that were predominantly tender. Finding their corresponding neural points, Spock worked until each of them were released.

Within an hour, Kirk was half asleep, his chest rising and falling evenly. Spock continued to press along his back, his fingers sliding easily over smooth skin. Running up and over toned muscles, along lines and into valleys. At each neural point, the tips of his fingers would tingle, alighting in response to the telepathic feedback. Finding that Kirk was both pleasantly relaxed and half asleep, he gave one final touch to the wings of his atlas before pulling away.

Kirk roused when Spock stopped, standing to pull on his shirt and give a small smile to his Commander. “Thank you. Really, it helped a lot. I feel a lot better.”

            “I am pleased to have been of assistance, Captain. Should you wish, I can return at a later time to continue. It typically takes several sessions to reverse the effects that long-term stress has on the body.”

            “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be fine. That’d be great.” Kirk was rubbing at his neck, an unusual show of unease on a man Spock thought rather fearless. “Thanks again. I’ll see you on the bridge tomorrow?”

            “Of course, Captain. Sleep well.”

            “You too.”

            For the next week, Spock joined his Captain in his quarters nightly. He worked several more times on his Captian’s back, releasing the tension and finding that each time there was less work to do. He then moved to his feet and legs. It was then that he determined his Captain to be, as his mother once accused him of being, “ticklish.” It was difficult to apply pressure to a man’s foot when said pressure initiated a rather explosive response.

            Not only was the pressure on Kirk lessening with the pressure that Spock was applying, that between them was also becoming less tangible as well. Kirk had resumed taking lunch with Spock. He had resumed talking with him on the bridge, outside of anything that was required. He resumed his tactile nature, gripping Spock’s shoulder in the turbolift, his elbow in the hall.

            “How about we restart that chess match? I saw you, the other day, moving a piece.”

            “Of course, Captain. When are you available?”

            “Tonight, after shift?”

            “I shall see you then.”

Kirk went to leave but turned back, a hand poised with a question. “Are we gunna, uh, do the massage stuff?”

            “Of course, Captain. Although, perhaps no more on your feet?”

            Kirk laughed deeply, his eyes alight and shining all that joy at the one man whom he had once deemed unworthy. “Yeah, maybe not.”

            At other times, the ordeal was still fresh, Kirk snapping almost before he noticed it, seeming to regret it almost immediately. He was a man of emotion and at present his emotion was tense with the lingering hints of betrayal, misplaced though the emotion was. Spock dealt with his outburst with a new level of understanding. On days when his Captain was especially emotional, Spock was especially calm.

Spock began to employ the favors he had witnessed his father using on his mother. He brought him things for no other reason than to do so; coffee, fruit, an extra serving of dessert. He presented him the ta’al for no other reason than to do so. He greeted him with a touch more excitement for no other reason than to do so. His father had once told him that, at times, humans wanted what they did not need when they did not know that they needed it. At the time, it confused Spock. Now, it was advice that was going lengths to repair their friendship.

They would often sit across from each other in the mess, their food between them. Kirk would smile at Spock, asking after his day, laughing at jokes Spock was not aware he was making. He would reach out to touch his wrist, as tactile as he always was with Spock. If Spock had picked something unusual to eat, or if Kirk knew he liked whatever it was that Spock was having, some would undoubtedly end up in Kirk’s mouth. He would sneak his hand out, silently asking, smiling when Spock would give a slight nod. The food would disappear into his mouth, a smile twisting afterwards, and Spock would find himself decidedly pleased.

They were becoming close, much closer than Spock remembered them being before the incidence. Kirk sought him out, pulled him into whatever activity he was engaged in. They ran laps around the gym, sparred with each other and, to Spock’s surprise, Kirk was surprisingly adept at yoga. Their lives had become so melded into one that Spock could not tell where their duty as Captain and Commander separated from their friendship. Kirk was worming his way into ever aspect of Spock’s life and Spock found that he did not mind.

            A month into the endeavor and Spock was at a loss. He had worked on all parts of his Captains body, had come to know where he held his stress, in all areas but one. Spock had been avoiding work on his Captains hands. It was a well-kept secret, even amongst some Vulcans, that hands were sensitive, erotic even. Neuropressure on the hands wasn’t necessary and provided only minor benefits; benefits that could be had from working on other, less erotic areas. But Spock had noticed a tendency for his Captain to manipulate his hands, forcing the joints to create a noticeable noise.

It was with no small level of reluctance that Spock asked. And Kirk readily complied, sitting cross legged on the bed, holding his hands out to Spock who, after a moment’s hesitation, sat mirrored to Kirk.

He took one hand in both of his, avoiding touching their fingertips together. He started first at the major muscle between Jim’s thumb and forefinger. Jim groaned, almost doubling over but most decidedly not in pain. Spock faltered, resuming his pressure and moving to the webbing between each finger. The technique caused their hands to momentarily slot together, Spock having to double his efforts to keep their fingertips from touching.

Switching hands, Spock gave the same treatment to its counterpart. It was all so relatively wrong. While he had performed this technique on the hands of his mother and father, their relationship was so defined that he saw nothing in the actions. With Jim, the actions were not so innocent. They had taken great steps to repair their friendship but not to the point that it was definitive. Jim was still reserved around him, cautious in a way that Spock regretted.

Done with his hands, Spock sat there, looking at Jim, really looking at the man. Jim seemed to be doing the same. They sat for a long moment, silent in their pensive contemplations.

“It’s late. I gotta go to bed. Thanks again for doing this.”

Spock nodded dumbly, not sure what else to do, and stood from the bed on legs that had begun to prick with disuse. He left his Captain after bidding him good dreams, walking on slightly numb legs back to his quarters, effectively one door down and to his own bed. They shared a joint bathroom – a difficult fact given their recent bout of mistrust – but had never crossed over into that realm of being comfortable with each other.

            At some point, however, the neuropressure had morphed beyond just that and Spock had begun to massage his shoulder, his neck, his back or arms or anywhere that was tense or that seemed to give him pleasure. He would listen as his Captain moaned and groaned, as he sunk into the bed or pushed back on Spock’s hands. Frequently his head would loll to the side, resting against Spock’s hands as he worked the knots out of his neck.

            “When exactly did we become a couple?”

            Spock froze in his ministrations, hands still grasping Kirk’s shoulders. “I am not sure I understand, Captain.”

            “I think you do. We spend so much time together. You look out for me, bring me things and do things for me to make me feel better.” Kirk had half turned to look at him, sitting so that he was much closer to Spock than he had been before. “And please, call me Jim.”

            Spock had no response. He did, however, have the overwhelming desire to run. He was no fool. He had noticed the closeness between them, he could read the obvious signs of attraction and longing. When Kirk – when Jim had begun to ask for lunch, for chess matches, for more time together, Spock had had to spend extra time meditating to compensate for the excitement he felt. Each touch to his arm or elbow or back, each initiation meant that Spock would have to bring up his shields for this man threatened to break him right in the middle of the hall. And Spock would willingly let him.

            He loved his Captain and he was not sure quite when it had happened. He thought at first it was a natural thing, a love similar to that of a brother. But Spock did not want Kirk – did not want Jim in the same way that he wanted Sybok or Michael. He tried to reason that it was in part the result of emotional transference. Jim was well known for his prowess, well known for his sexual exploits. Perhaps it was Jim that wanted him and not he that necessarily wanted Jim. Or that it was just the relationship that developed between a Captain and Commander, one born of trust, of surviving against the odds, of working in tandem.

            Yet no amount of logic could explain what Spock felt. He had not felt this for his other companions, had obviously not felt it for his siblings, or for Captain Pike. This, between them, was unlike any relationship he had ever formed. He did not know how to traverse it. He did not know when it had started.

As had happened so many times in his acquaintance with one James Tiberius Kirk he was reduced to doing as his older counter part had suggested: what feels right.

            “I do not know.” Spock mumbled, leaning in to do what felt right.

            It must have felt right to Jim as well for he met him halfway. The kiss was soft at first, tentative and testing the waters. Finding them clam and suitable, the kiss developed, deepening, lips molding and moving with gentle ripples, not unlike the calm morning tide. Spock enjoyed the ocean, all that he had been privy to on all the planets he had visited. He liked the way the water lapped at the shore, liked the way the waves sounded. He liked the water, just like he liked the way Jim’s lips mimicked water against his mouth.

            Threading his hands through Jim’s hair, feeling the golden threads for the first real time, marveling in the soft, thick waves, Spock held him close. Their mouths moved against each other, the distinct flavor of the others saliva mingling between them. Spock had always found the act of kissing odd. It was sloppy and unhygienic but between the feel and taste and wholeness that was Jim, he found he did not mind it at all.

            Jim pushed back into the kiss when Spock did, his hands roving the expanse of his body, each of them exploring where the other wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t the case, he knew that his hands were no hotter than they should have been, but Jim’s hands felt impossibly hot against him, even through his regulation uniform.

            Those hands had worked under the hem of Spock’s uniform shirt, ghosting his fingers delicately over sensitive skin. Spock squirmed beneath his touch, unable to stop his reaction to Jim’s presence. Gripping the hem, Jim brought the shirt up, pausing their kiss for only a moment to draw it over Spock’s head before continuing to consume him with vigor.

            Jim’s mouth was rough against his, the remnants of his frustrations working themselves out through the kiss. At the same time, he was desperate. Spock could tell how desperate he was, could tell how much closer and how tender he desired to be. Between bites and nips and the force of it all, Jim would pepper in soft kisses and licks, pulling Spock close to him with just his being.

            At some point, Jim rid himself of his own shirt and their chests slid together. Spock moaned at the contact, the sound filling Jim’s mouth and urging him on. Jim returned with sounds of his own, growing until they threatened to consume the both of them.

            Spock could admit that he was overwhelmed. Sexual congress was not new to him. He had experimented as all his peers had experimented – although his was of a limited pool of contestants. He had been with Nyota, had shared his bed and his body with her often. But he had not been with a lover so desperate, so willing, so decidedly Jim in his life. Which, he chuckled, was obvious.

            “What’s funny?”

            “Nothing. Please do not desist.”

            “Baby, you don’t have to worry about me stopping.”

            Jim grinned against his neck, kneeling there with his hands at Spock’s elbows, rubbing circles against his skin. He placed a lazy kiss, then another, working his way to Spock’s chin, then the space below his lips, before taking his bottom lip between his teeth, all while keeping eye contact.

            Jim pulled back, releasing Spock completely. The look on his face was somber, serious even. “Is this okay?”

            Spock nodded dumbly, leaning in to kiss Jim in lieu of an answer.

            It all happened in fast order after that. Jim rid them both of their pants, which left him outright pleasantly naked. Jim watched Spock take his bare form in, watched as he started at his neck and worked down to his chest, his stomach, lingering for a long moment at his flushed length. Jim squirmed slightly under his gaze, his hand coming up to pull at Spock’s underwear.

            Spock’s erection was visible through the black of his regulation issued garment, thick and pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. Jim marveled at it, the anticipation of what was to come causing his own to throb against his leg, a bead of lubrication gathering at the tip. Slowly, Jim reached out to cup him through the fabric, drawing a heady hiss from Spock.

            Without preamble, Spock removed his underwear, coming to lay flush over Jim’s body, pressing him down into the mattress and fitting their lengths together. Jim pressed up against him, arms wrapping around Spock as Jim began to desperately rut against him.

            “It has been some time since I have been with another male. Which position do you prefer?” Spock mumbled against Jim’s neck.

            Jim gripped Spock’s shoulders tightly. “You talking sexual position or top or bottom?”

            “Top or bottom?”

            “I’ve only ever been a top. You?”

            “I am quite versatile.”

            “Oh, god. Roll over.”

            “I think not.”

            Jim looked at him, confused and slightly taken aback. Spock had a look of pure bliss on his face and it took Jim a moment to realize that Spock had his fingers deep inside himself, stretching and preparing. Jim batted them away, replacing them with his own short, thick fingers.

            Spock exclaimed at the difference, bearing down, his hands pressing at Jim’s chest to balance himself. It took Jim but a moment to find Spock’s prostate, in a different location than he was anticipating but creating the response he wanted. Spock arched back against him, rubbing himself over Jim, his head thrown back as he worked in waves. Spock did so love the water.

            At some point, Spock was too occupied to notice when exactly, Jim had retrieved a bottle of lubrication and had used it to further slick the fingers working him open. Spock assumed a generous amount was also covering Jim’s length.

            “Is that good? Can I enter you? Can I, please?”

            “Yes, please.”

            And so Jim did and Spock had never known a lover quite like him. Jim was slow, steady, bracing Spock at his hips and helping to work him down over his length. When Spock was fully seated, they sat still. Looking into his eyes, Spock leaned down to kiss him. The movement caused the length inside of him to press against his prostate. Spock groaned loud, starting to move against Jim.

            “Oh, gah. Oh yes, darling. Oh please.”

            Spock was moving freely, undulating against the solid mass beneath him, watching as each wave brought forth sounds and pleasure from Jim. His hands still at Spock’s hips, Jim used them to hold Spock steady as he thrust up into him. His ass coming off the bed, Jim used his legs and back, solid and strong to repeatedly enter Spock’s soft heat.

            Taking himself in hand, Spock spread his lubricant over his penis, running his fist up and down, his thumb over the head, over the slit. The combined pleasure had him groaning and moaning softly, his eyes heavily lidded as he concentrated on the gratification he was experiencing.

            It was so much, to be with this man. It was so much to hear their combined voices rising in pleasure, the slapping of their skin and the slick squelch of moisture from their movements. It was so much and yet Spock did not wish for it to be over so soon.

            He dismounted the man beneath him, ignoring Jim’s shocked exclamation of question. He ignored him as he worked his mouth down Jim’s neck and to his nipples. It was hard to ignore, however, the way Jim’s hands tightened in his hair, holding him as he worried the nipple with tongue and teeth. Spock left that nipple in favor of working the other. His mouth was hot and wet against Jim and he could tell that Jim was reveling in the sensation. Other lovers had commented on the texture of his tongue, the hardly-there sandpaper feel of it. Jim seemed lost in the sensation.

            Spock worked his mouth down further, until he reached his ultimate destination. He laved his tongue first over the tip of the heavy, bobbing member. More precum appeared there and Spock licked it clean, continuing the action until Jim was all but screaming below him. Taking some modicum of sympathy on the man, as Spock knew Jim was enjoying it, he went further down until he reached the base. Glad that Jim was clean shaven, Spock took one testicle into his mouth, working his tongue over it in more waves. Releasing that one, he went to work on the other. By the time he had the length of Jim in his mouth, the man was panting heavily, fisting the sheets in a desperate bid to retain his sanity.

            Grasping the base in one hand, Spock wound his mouth up and down. He hollowed out his checks, running his tongue along the grove at the head, into the slit at the tip. Jim relinquished his hold on the sheets in favor of threading his hands through Spock’s hair and holding him there.

Noticing that Jim’s gasps, pleas and moans were blurring together, Spock released him, climbing his body to ready himself to be entered once more. Jim used his hand to guide himself into the waiting heat of his Vulcan lover. Spock moaned, continuing to ride his Captain as if he had never stopped.

“Oh, Captain.”

Jim yelled, a sound unintelligible as he released himself deep into Spock, coming in hot thick ropes. His hips stuttered, the sounds coming from his mouth becoming sounds and nothing else. Grasping Spock’s cock, Jim pumped him enthusiastically. Spock came with a cry of his own, shuddering around the cock that was still deeply imbedded in him.  

For as long as it took for their shuddering to subside and their breaths to even out, they lay there, Spock’s weight on top of Jim. When Jim pressed at his side, Spock rolled off of him, his arm keeping tight around Jim’s waist. They lay facing each other, their limbs entangled, exchanging lazy kisses.

Jim looked happy, a smile on his face, completely at ease. Something Spock had not noticed from him for an extended time. To think that he was the cause of such happiness brought a rare smile to his own face.

            “I have loved you, for far longer and far deeper, than I could have ever known. You are the one I have been looking for, needless of if I knew it or not. One of my mother’s favorite concepts was that of love at first sight. Do you believe in such a concept, Jim?”

            “In this moment, Spock, I believe in whatever it was that brought us together. Call it fate or destiny, whatever you want, it’s why we’re here and I couldn’t be happier.”

            They would fall asleep that way, tangled in each other. Wake up that way and continue to make love as they had the night before. They would spend the rest of the day, a combined day off, in that room. They would hardly leave the bed except to eat and use the bathroom. They would use the rest of the day to work out any lingering frustrations and devote themselves to each other, through words and through actions.

            Jim had never realized how affectionate Spock could be. And he was loving every second of it. Spock would spend the night there and they would depart their respective bedrooms to go about ships business, only to return and start their activities all over again. The neuropressure would continue, yet it always seemed to work itself out in one particular way.

            The last place Spock had ever assumed he would perform neuropressure on his Captain was on his face. It was far more intimate than even using the technique on another’s hands. Spock would be ghosting so close to Jim’s meld points, so close to the points he had longed to touch since the beginning of their relationship.

            It was a relationship, Spock reminded himself. They had engaged in sexual congress for the first time some 6.89 months ago. Afterwards, Jim had insisted that they ‘go on dates.’ The dates would lead, Spock assumed, naturally to the concept of them then dating. That, however, was thrown off course by the fact that on their first date, they had ended up back in Jim’s bed. Each subsequent day for the next week followed suit.

            Jim had then decided, quite unanimously but quite to Spock’s liking, that a relationship was inevitable and that they should cross the level of intimacy that they had so far not done.

            Which is how Spock found himself rising from his bed, crossing his room and entering Jim’s room through their shared bathroom. Jim was waiting for him, a seductive smile and lift of his eyebrows as a greeting. Spock lifted his own eyebrow, much to Jim’s delight, and crawled across the bed to sit before Jim.

            Jim sat, rubbing at his temples and groaning in slight pain. He had confided in Spock that he frequently had migraines and that while they were well controlled by McCoy’s medicine, they would occasionally creep up on him. Which is how Spock found himself offering to perform neural pressure on Jim’s face.

            “It works like that, on migraines even?”

            “Yes. My mother would occasionally have weather induced headaches that the neuropressure would help to reduce.”

            “Alright. I trust you completely, love.”


End file.
